


Manus Dei

by RogueTranslator



Series: 15x20 Didn't Happen. This is What Happens Next. [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, American Politics, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Archangel Castiel (Supernatural), COVID-19, Canon Universe, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Costumes, Disguise, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Jack Kline as God, Major Illness, Morality, Multi, Post-Canon, The finale is not canon, Third Wheel Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: When Dean said he had a job for them after five months of retirement, Sam definitely wasn’t expecting this. They’re hunters, not doctors, and it’s not like Castiel has ever shown a willingness to cure people of non-supernatural ailments before. Curing everyone they can of COVID-19? Dean’s bitten off more than he can chew, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Castiel reluctantly agrees, though, so it’s not like Sam can object.At first it seems like everything’s going swimmingly. But there’s a Latin phrase Sam remembers reading once: Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: 15x20 Didn't Happen. This is What Happens Next. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031529
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: The AO3 SPN Kink Meme





	Manus Dei

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [theao3spnkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/theao3spnkinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Castiel uses his angel powers and the Winchester's undercover powers to sneak into hospitals as a visiting physician and cure everyone he possibly can of Covid-19.

“You ready for this?”

Castiel looks up at Dean. He’s sitting on the bleeding edge of the Impala’s trunk, his hands clasped together in what looks uncannily like prayer. He shrugs.

“I still don’t know why I have to wear this ridiculous outfit. As an archangel, I could snap my fingers and instantaneously cure everyone in that building of what ails them. Including the ones who don’t know what they’re sick with yet.”

Dean gives a little cock of his head. He’s started to pick that up from Castiel.

“And we didn’t have to drive all the way here. I could’ve flown us.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean licks his lips. “Stop bragging.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “He’s right, though, Dean. We could’ve finished this hours ago.” He adds, his voice dropped to a mutter: “Just because you want to see him in that doctor costume.”

“Quit your bitching. Eileen’ll be fine without you for one afternoon. Besides, she’s not alone. She’s got Miracle.”

“You mean we forced her to take care of Miracle so you and Cass can play dress-up,” Sam huffs.

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” Castiel says. He lifts his arms, a gesture of resignation, and the white coat billows awkwardly at his sides. It’s clearly not the right fit. Hopefully the hospital staff won’t look too closely.

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Can we focus on the task at hand, please? Saving people? We can bicker on the drive home.” Dean shakes the lapels of his suit jacket. “Everyone remember the plan?”

“I’m Dr. Knowles, a physician and virologist at the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, working under Anthony Fauci. We’re here to collect data on the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on rural communities.”

“Deputy Rowland.” Sam waves his badge. “U.S. Marshals.”

“And I’m Deputy Marshal Williams.” Dean double checks his identification. “The good doctor here needs security because of credible threats against Dr. Fauci and his senior staff. Gives us an excuse to flash fed credentials; that always greases the wheels.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Why are people threatening Dr. Fauci?”

“Because, Cass.” Dean reaches out and gently adjusts Castiel’s tie, pulling the knot tighter. “Because…some people in the world are just crazy.”

Castiel frowns, clearly still uncomprehending. Dean smooths down his collar and gives him a shy smile. Deciding to allow them their moment of privacy, Sam turns to face the highway and checks his phone.

_Can dogs eat apple pie?_

Sam grins. He’d normally warn anyone against touching one of Dean’s precious pies, but it’s not like he’ll be able to get pissed at Eileen when she’s been dogsitting for them all day.

_A little bit should be fine. You can eat as much as you want, though._ _😊_

_😋 How’s the work going?_

_We’re just about to go in. Hopefully all goes well._

_Fingers crossed._

_It’ll be okay. If anything happens, Cass can just snap his fingers and cure everyone._

_Why doesn’t he just do that now?_

Sam grimaces. He doesn’t want to talk about his brother’s weird doctor kink with his girlfriend, but with the four of them spending so much time together lately, he supposes it’ll come up inevitably. He’s just grateful that Eileen can’t hear the disturbing noises coming from Dean’s bedroom when he and Castiel are “studying Spanish.” “Scarred for life” would be an understatement.

“Sam,” Dean says from behind him. “You ready?”

_Tell you later. Gotta go._

“Yeah.” Sam returns his phone to his pocket. “Just checking in with Eileen.”

They proceed to the hospital’s low, broad ingress. It’s early evening, and the sunset over the Kansas plains paints the sandstone façade orange and pink. Notwithstanding the illness and death within, the Brutalist building is oddly beautiful, rising up as it does from the vast parking lot and the swath of empty land around it. There’s not much else here on the outskirts of town.

“Evening,” Dean says, through his mask. The receptionist looks up at him charily from behind a desk as wide as a school bus. “I’m Deputy Marshal Williams, this is Deputy Marshal Rowland. We’re escorting Dr. Knowles here as he collects data on the impact of COVID-19 on rural hospitals.”

There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, and for a second Sam thinks that the game’s over before it’s even begun. Serves Dean right for agreeing to Castiel’s ridiculous choice of aliases.

“Oh, you called. Yeah, I have you in here.” She produces a clipboard, and Dean wags his own pen with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’ll just have you sign in and get someone to show you around. There might be a wait….” She glances at each of them in turn. “We don’t have a lot of staff to spare.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Castiel says. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time at this hospital. I know my way.”

She juts her chin out, clearly not buying that at all. Sam’s about to step in when Castiel amends his statement.

“Years ago. When I was much younger.” He waves his fingers.

“Oh,” she says, smiling. There’s a contented glaze over her expression now. “Yes, of course. Go right ahead.”

Dean hands back the clipboard, and they move down the nearest hallway. Sam watches the signs overhead, trying to figure out where they’re heading.

“You really know where we’re going, Cass?” Dean whispers.

“No.” He stops at a junction. “But hospitals are organized logically. We should be able to find the emergency department without much trouble.”

“Not just the emergency room,” Sam says. He motions to the left; they move again. “I read that most hospitals are overwhelmed with demand for beds. They’re putting patients wherever they can, even in ambulance garages. Any empty space.”

“Damn,” Dean says. He turns to Castiel with the rarest of mid-case emotions written on his face: doubt. “You sure you’re up to this, Cass? It’s going to be a lot of people to heal.”

“I told you, Dean, my powers don’t work like that anymore. They don’t tax me at all. Not after—”

“After Jack slapped a pair of rainbow archangel wings on you, yeah, yeah.” Dean throws an eager look at him that Sam really wishes he could erase from his memory forever. “Still waiting for you to show them to me.”

“Ugh,” Sam grunts. “Can you two save it for later? I’d like to keep my lunch down.”

“Sam’s right,” Castiel says. “We’re here for a purpose. Truthfully, I’m more worried about Jack than whether I can heal these people.”

“What?” Sam says. They’ve reached another intersection at just the right time for a pause. “Jack?”

“Yes.”

“You want to elaborate?” Dean says.

“Remember what I told you two the day I got back? Jack doesn’t believe in intervening on Earth. It’s unlikely that he approves of what we’re about to do.” Castiel looks up at the signs pointing out the different corners of the hospital—or maybe he’s looking up at Heaven. Sam isn’t sure. “I’m sure he’ll let me know sooner or later, in any case.”

Dean throws back his shoulders. “That’s just messed up. This is about saving lives. Who gives a crap about Jack’s precious beliefs?”

“Dean—”

“You’re his father, Cass, not the other way around. Lay down the law.”

Castiel just shakes his head. Sam snorts derisively, which of course Dean pounces on.

“Something to say, Sammy?”

“Like Dad did with me?” Sam glares back the challenge. “‘Laying down the law’ only gets you so far, Dean.”

A huddle of nurses and doctors emerge from a nearby set of double doors, and Dean and Castiel move back to allow them space. They glide past, looking enervated and completely unaware of the three men playing dress-up at the side of the hallway. With their white plastic protective gear drifting behind them in dangling strips and folds, they remind Sam of the ghosts they used to encounter in their past lives.

“Let’s go,” Castiel says. “Intensive care is this way.”

Dean shoots a this-isn’t-over look at Sam before following Castiel. Sam takes out his phone again as they walk. He knows there’s nothing there from Eileen—he would’ve felt it on his thigh—but he just wants to look at something other than hospital walls. He can’t remember a case from the fifteen years he and Dean hunted together as dispiriting as this one.

Castiel begins the healing. Sometimes, Sam or Dean can spin a lie to get whatever medical staff are present in a given room to give them space. Most of the time, Castiel has to do the talking. He’s gotten a lot better at that over the years, Sam notes, though he wonders how much of the persuasion is being done by his words and how much by his angel mojo. To maintain their cover, Castiel puts the patients into a deep, restful sleep after they’ve been healed—they’ll wake up around the time the three of them get back home, though more than likely the attending nurses will catch on before then. Either way, it’s not as if anything could be connected back to them. What’s happening is a medical impossibility.

One patient hits Sam particularly hard. He’s a man in his early sixties who has, Castiel mentions offhandedly, about an hour left to live. When they arrive at his bedside, he’s telling a nurse who’s holding his hand the story of his life. Fifth-generation Kansan, soybean farmer all his life who switched to corn because of the trade war. His wife and brother died in the same month a few years back, and since then all he’s had is his only child, a grown son who lives in Lawrence. He’s not here, though. He can’t be.

The nurse is hard to detach; despite not knowing the man, she feels a profound duty to give him comfort in what she thinks are his final moments. Dean manages, finally, nodding back to Castiel once they’re at the door. When Castiel’s hand glows the color of the midday sun over the man’s chest and his breathing shifts from a thin wheeze to calm, deep breaths, Sam starts to cry.

“Sam?”

Castiel’s hand is on his shoulder. Sam manages a smile before rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. He thinks that Castiel can see it, even though most of his face is covered.

“I’m alright, Cass. Let’s keep going.”

He pats Sam’s shoulder. Dean reappears at the foot of the bed, notices Sam’s tears, decides not to say anything. He looks like he might have had his own moment in the hallway.

“He’ll be okay,” Castiel says. It’s superfluous, yet comforting. Sam knows he says it for their benefit.

They get through the rest of the hospital—or at least, the parts that they can puzzle out a way into. In case they missed anyone, Castiel snaps his fingers just inside the sliding glass doors that lead out to the parking lot.

“It’s done,” he says. Once they’re outside, he snaps his fingers again. “I’ve hit every patient in there, and all traces of us are gone.”

It’s chilly out here. They were inside for hours. The sky is blue-black, overrun with stars, and the pale sickle of the moon hangs high above the hospital’s tower. Dean removes his mask, pulls off Castiel’s, and kisses his cheek.

“You did good today,” Dean says, then clears his throat and squares his shoulders. It’s like he just remembered that Sam’s behind them.

“Well, I—” Castiel stops, his lips thinning. “I have to go. Jack’s calling.”

“What?” Dean throws Sam a glance as if he can do something. “Now?”

“Drive back without me,” Castiel says. “I’ll try not to be away for too long.”

He flies off before Dean has a chance to sputter his protest. Sam shrugs.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he says. He takes out his phone to tell Eileen they’ve finished.

Dean mills around underneath a streetlight that shines a harsh, unearthly white. Sam rests against the hospital’s wall and starts typing.

_We’re done. Heading home soon._

_How’d it go?_

_Everyone’s cured. Hundreds of people._

_Wow._

_Miracles, huh?_

_😇 They happen once in a while._

_Will you keep going?_

_Other hospitals, I mean?_

_Dunno._

_We want to, but it depends._

_?_

_I’ll explain later. How’s the puppy?_

_Sleeping by my feet right now._

_We finished half the pie_ _😮_

Sam laughs out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Dean says, from under the streetlight. He sounds like he wants to start a fight.

“Eileen.” Sam waves his phone. He thinks for a second that he should engage him, but decides to leave that to Castiel.

There’s a swoosh of wings right when Sam replies to Eileen. He returns his phone to his pocket and walks to the streetlight. Castiel looks crestfallen.

“Cass?” Dean prompts.

“Jack says we’re not to do this anymore.” Castiel glances up at Dean, then returns his gaze to the sidewalk. “He’ll overlook this one, but that’s it.”

Dean seethes. He opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel keeps going.

“When Jack made an exception for me to return to Earth, it was because of family. Also, this isn’t supernatural. It’s a virus.” Castiel shrugs. “We’re interfering too much in the natural order. I’ve already upset him by going this far.”

“So,” Dean says bitterly. “That’s it, then? Thousands, hundreds of thousands of people just die, even though we could save them?”

“Maybe I could try talking to him,” Sam says. He feels stupid for saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“He won’t be swayed,” Castiel says, sounding as tired as Sam’s ever heard him. “Let’s just go home.”

Dean is shaking with rage. Suddenly, he brings his palms to his face and starts sniffing. Castiel embraces him loosely under the too-white light.

“Dammit,” is all he says. Eventually, he drops his arms and lets Castiel hold him.

“I know.” Castiel soothes his back. “At least we saved some people.”

Dean shakes his head. He opens his eyes and glances at Sam over Castiel’s shoulder.

“I can drive,” Sam offers. He doesn’t couch the offer in any specific reason, mindful of Dean’s pride. After a few seconds, Dean nods and tosses him the keys.

When they reach the Impala, Castiel gets into the back seat, settling against the passenger-side door. Dean buckles in on the other end. Sam shares a fleeting moment of eye contact in the rear-view mirror with Dean as he’s pulling out. He looks at least as haunted as he ever did in their hunting days.

It’s an hour and a half of flat, empty roads until home. Fields most of the way—wheat, soybeans, corn—punctuated by the occasional lonely hamlet every few miles with its one intersection, its one gas station with its missing neon letters. The night is black even when the thin moon emerges from the clouds, and there are parts of the drive where it feels like the car’s headlights are struggling to slice through the murk. Sam touches his hand to the bulge of his phone in his pocket, feels the warmth there.

They’re twelve miles from Lebanon when Sam finally looks at the back seat in the rear-view mirror. At some point, Dean undid his seat belt and moved over to be closer to Castiel. He’s asleep now, or something close to it, with his knees bent on the far side and his head in Castiel’s lap. The stress is gone from his face. Sam thinks he looks younger.

Their left hands are joined just above Dean’s heart. With his other hand, Castiel strokes the side of Dean’s head slowly, gently—absentmindedly, Sam would say, if it weren’t for the look of intense focus in Castiel’s eyes.

For a moment, Sam is confused by all he’s able to see. The darkness should obscure everything in the car, just as it permeates the world outside. He thinks about the harsh streetlight outside the hospital, compares it to the glow over the back seat now. He’s sure he can see more in the latter.

It’s a silly thought, but he can’t shake it for the rest of the way home.


End file.
